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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26051362">Words From The Mind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiImRin/pseuds/HiImRin'>HiImRin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>18th Century, American Revolution, Anxiety kinda, Coping Mechanisms, Historical, Historical References, parent arguing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:08:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,002</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26051362</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiImRin/pseuds/HiImRin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tabonene isn't exactly your average 14 year old boy in the 1700's. He's a bit mischievous and likes to do things his own way, even if its against his parents word. He sometimes has a few worries in his life he doesn't understand, but tries to find ways to cope.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Words From The Mind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, this is a short story for an OC of mine. Its kinda short, and I wrote it during class this week. I'm very sorry if there is grammar or spelling mistakes. Please let me know if you see any so I can fix them. Feedback is appreciated. :D</p>
<p>Enjoy!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Third Person Perspective</p>
<p>Tabonene silently slipped on his riding boats and put on his wine red coat. He was careful not to make a sound. His parents didn't want him going into town all alone at this time, but Tab had other plans. He slowly opened the door, and walked out, making sure to lightly push it close.</p>
<p>Tabonene’s Perspective</p>
<p>Finally I'm free. I hate it when Mother and Father tell me what to do, especially when it's about going out. For god's sake, I’m 14. I can take care of myself if I go out. I know my way around more than they think. You might not believe it, but this isn't my first time sneaking out. I do it more often than I should, and I feel bad about it sometimes. It's too late now to take it back. Plus being out by myself is so much better than with Mother or Father. Mother only takes me to the market to get the food for the week. She never lets me go to the library or anywhere else for that matter. Even though I only get to go so often, it still is my favorite place. Father doesn't take me out very often. Sometimes he will come with Mother and I to the store, but that's it. He has work to do as he likes to say. Sometimes I question if that's even what he's really doing. I need to stop letting my mind drift off like that. I shouldn't be so silly, of course father is just at work. I try to assure myself that, but the thought, or should i say worry lingers at the back of my mind.</p>
<p>	I'm not too far from home right now. I could just turn around and not risk the troubles today, but I decide to keep going like I always do. I'll make my way to the library first, so I can read for a bit. The thought of reading a nice book right now calms me of all the thoughts I have of if I got caught. A book is definitely worth the risk. Only a little bit longer till I get to my destination. I wave to a few of the town members while I walk. They know I’m not supposed to be out, but luckily they never tell. </p>
<p>I finally arrive at the library.  You can only hear the faint whispers of other people there. That's how I like it, quiet. It's not very quiet at home. Mother and Father argue a lot. When they do, I usually run to my room to hide. It makes me upset when I hear them not getting along. It frightens me that one day father might- No, no I can’t think like that. I try and ignore the awful thought, but it's still very much there. </p>
<p>	I walk over to one of the shelves and start running my hand over the many books lined up. My eyes grace over the many spines and glance at the titles. It's hard to decide which book I would like to read, but I eventually decide on a nice book with a few poems in it. I'm unfamiliar with the writer, but i'm sure it will be a good read. I walk over to one of the tables, sit down, and start to read the book.</p>
<p>	I get about halfway through the book when I realize I should probably start heading back home. I close the book and walk back over to the shelve. I wish I could stay here and read forever, but I don’t want to possibly get caught. I walk to the door and leave the library. I start my walk home. </p>
<p>	I finally arrive at my house. I walk up to the door as quietly as I can. I don't hear any voices. That's good. I can just sneak my way back in and get away with this escape. I lightly open the door and peak in. I don't see anyone. Perfect! I slowly walk inside, and head to my room. I hear my parents talking in the kitchen, so I try to make myself not visible to them in the other room. I successfully get to my room. Part of me feels guilty for disobeying my parents, but I’m just doing what I need to do. I want to go to some sort of college when I am grown, but I need the studies and knowledge to get into one. So in a sense I’m just preparing myself for the future. </p>
<p>	I decide to leave my room and go talk a bit with my parents. They have moved from the kitchen to the main room. They glance at me as I walk in. I go to sit in the chair on the left side of the room. It's where I always sit. Father talks to me about work. He seems to say what he always says. Busy, tiring, hard. It's hard to believe him when it's the same thing every single time, but I listen anyway, for I have nothing better to do. Mother also listens. I can never tell if she realizes that he only speaks of the same things. So it is left a mystery to me if she gets the same thoughts I do about Father and work. We finish our short chat and I decide to walk around outside for a bit.</p>
<p>	The sun is shining, and there's a slight breeze that sweeps through the air. It's perfect. I love days like these. They are very comfortable. I go to find the tree, the really large shady one. It's my favorite one. It's a nice one to climb and hide out for a bit, but for now, I'm just going to sit underneath it where I'm in the shade. I brought some paper and a quill,so I could maybe write a little bit. I also brought a small piece of flat wood,so I have a surface to write on. I know my father wouldn't like me taking that without his permission, but I think It'll be okay for now. I set up all my supplies. I dip my quill in the ink, allow myself a thought of what I will write, and then I start to let the words flow.</p>
<p>	I write a poem. A poem about my thoughts lately. Not them specifically, but about how I have had a lot of worries in my recent days. I write of how they make me feel. Nervous, on edge, worrisome. How they make me question everything. If I’m the reason for my parents' constant quarreling. Writing out my thoughts gives me the release I need. I let everything go. I finish the short poem, and sign it. Tabonene. I like the way the letters swirl in my name. It's my best handwriting. I like to make sure all my poems are my best work, so if I ever show them to anybody, they will think highly of me. Not as some thoughtless, small child, but as a mature, intelligent young man. I allow the work to dry. While it tries, I look around at the view I have. It's very pretty and calming. It's nice. I check my work to see if it's finished its drying. It finally has. I take it inside and sit it on the center table. Mother and Father always like to read my writings and poems, Mother especially. Father doesn't want me to get too carried away in the career of writing. For he thinks it's not a successful enough job. I always try to reassure him that my writing is just a fun activity I like. For I don't want a career in writing anyway. I want to be a soldier when I get older. In my opinion, I think I would be a pretty good one. I’m not sure how my parents feel about that choice, but either way, I'm gonna be a soldier one day. Even if it's against my parents' word.</p>
<p>	I lay the paper gently on the table and make sure it's straight and neat. I head back to my room for a bit to just have some time in the quiet. I drift off to a light sleep for a bit. Mother comes and wakes me up for dinner. I sit and eat my food, while my dad talks about whatever news is happening in the town.<br/>
“Tabonene,” My mother says. I look up at her.<br/>
“Yes, Mother?”<br/>
“I read that very nice poem you had written.” I expected her to see it and read it. I hope she liked it. Her opinion matters a lot ot me<br/>
“Thank you for reading it, I hope you liked it. Do you maybe have any feedback or comments on it?” I ask. I hope she actually has something to say. She always says “O, it was lovely Tab, just perfect!” Of course that's very sweet of her, but I just want real feedback so I can know if my poem needs improvement or not.<br/>
“I thought it was very nice. It seemed very personal to you, Tab. I liked how the poem had a bit more meaning to it.” I’m pleasantly surprised to say the lease. She actually gave me a bit of real feedback this time.<br/>
“Yes, it definitely had a lot more thought put into it this time. Thank you for your thoughts.” I reply back to her. I see her smile and get ready to respond back to me, but my dad interrupts her before she can even start.<br/>
“Actually, son, I would like to ask if you could maybe add on to some of those thoughts in the poem. I would like to hear you talk about them.”<br/>
I start to feel a bit nervous. He’s never asked me to talk more about what the poems mean and the meaning behind the words. Plus this writing is more personal to me than any other poem I have ever written. I can't deny him though so I come up with some sort of response.<br/>
“ Well, Father, um- the poem speaks about how I feel, and the little thoughts that always stay in my mind. How they affect me or make me feel. It also states how I wish I could make these thoughts disappear from my mind, but how I know they never will, and how I need to deal and cope with them.” I finish my explanation and study my parents' faces, especially my fathers. I hope I didn't say anything wrong. My parents look understanding, like there taking in all the words I said, and comparing them to their own experiences. Although, part of my dad looks concerned. Almost a look of pity. I don't wish to be pitied, especially over something as thoughtless as a poem.<br/>
“That seems very mature, I’m happy you're finding a way to accept those worried thoughts and put them aside, so you can enjoy your days.”<br/>
His response is nice. It calms me, especially the point that he understands what I mean. I nod my head in agreement and then dismiss myself from dinner. I head to my room and prepare for the night. I go to gather my poem from the other room to put it in the box with my other ones. My Mother stops me though.<br/>
“Tabonene dear, I hope you don't mind me asking this.”<br/>
“Of course not mother. Ask whatever you please from me.”<br/>
“I really admire your newest poem, and I would like to keep it in my room, or maybe even frame it.” Her words fill me with happiness. Of course, I would be delighted to give her my poem. Especially to have it framed on the wall. I agree to her, and let her take my poem. I head to bed, with the happy feeling she has given me. I drift off into a nice deep sleep.</p>
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